


Tar hopscotch, side steps

by 35391291



Category: Jonathan Strange & Mr Norrell - Susanna Clarke
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-29
Updated: 2016-10-29
Packaged: 2018-08-27 20:13:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 600
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8415103
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/35391291/pseuds/35391291
Summary: It is happening again, like clockwork. The world gets drunk and gives up.
Protections means being an island. Until it starts to mean home.





	

**Author's Note:**

> This story was inspired by [a poem written by Gwendolyn Brooks](http://allpoetry.com/Gay-Chaps-At-The-Bar). It runs parallel with [White threads and empty hands](http://archiveofourown.org/works/8599108).

The night seems to draw on god’s own breath. Life is an endless repetition of fist fighting gutter mouthed street corners. Here is the panoramic of the path, once again. The sky seems to crash and murmur, always turning. Threats appear all over, lining up, like a face among many at an ale house. It all fades into the blur of days and weeks and months. Travelling with Vinculus means that he is protecting a Book more valuable than life itself, and Childermass knows that there might never be a moment's rest again.

It ought to be easier, but it is not. There is rage in the darkness of a cheap inn, where the furniture feels alive and cunning. Even the candles seem to be on guard. A weaker man might allow himself the comfort of a little tear, falling on the mirror. But there is no time for this. It has all been done before, this rhythm turned upside down, this serenade for alcohol. They seem to have stepped out and away from the world, like a forgotten island. Even if Childermass wished for it, there is no more stopping for hope. Bound to the Book as he is, this is something he must do.

Silence hits Childermass with an uneasy sleep. His pulse feels like an injured bird, a mistake. Useless glass shatters his heart into anonymous dead pigeons. An obsession waltz, ready to feed the world, longing for a cheap relief of sorts. Wading in a sea of broken glass, into strange arms that point the way towards nowhere. These dreams make him feel restless. He will not allow any danger or harm, he tells himself. He wants the detachment of protection, but soon it stops being enough. He has to hold on to something in the darkness.

Everything is unexpected, for Vinculus is a strange character. There are memory stains on everything he has ever looked at. Loaded on old spirits, like noisy drunken objects falling from above. Razor cut thoughts, growing back like the skin of a newborn bird. Slurred dirt, full of blasphemies, curses and drinking songs he has never bothered to learn. His dreams are strange as well. And just as restless. Caught in midnight dark, defeated wings and stick legs. A black bird volcano. Veins that turn into wire, until nothing is left behind.

And there is still no god in the darkness. It is happening again, like clockwork. The world gets drunk and gives up. A strange world it is, Childermass thinks. There are bones that sleep here now, and they can never go back to calling this a home. Perhaps it is time to build one, if only as a mask against pain. Nothing has taught them how to be an island, but there is something here now, something to protect. And nothing else seems right.

There is much to think about, after a walk through streets neglected of light. So many possible paths, but only one door. And this is the way he will go. It feels easy now, at last, like turning a street corner. Childermass is no longer simply guarding a treasure. Perhaps he never was. He has seen it in his cards, and in his heart as well. They come from the street, all gritty jewels and decadence. There are shared, unspoken words now, and they mean something. There is no solemnity in this prophecy of ink, gazes and feathers. _Ashes fog sawdust son of a gun_ , all these words make up their home, their bond. They mean to say that it will all come good.


End file.
